Everdark
by Unborn Lord Xion
Summary: There is darkness everywhere. Alrac knows this to be true. [Warning: Darkfic, if you couldn't guess. OC.]


When Alrac was little, his mother had taken him beside and told him he was a Champion. He was the one in legends, the one who would use the Light to slay the Darkness. It filled Alrac's heart with pride, and he did his best to live up to this destiny. He fought the bullies, protected the weak. He was a hero.

Then the Darkness came.

For all his games, his play-acting and make-believe, he was powerless. He watched in wide-eyed, terrified awe as the world was ripped apart before him. Children he'd fought and fought for both died in the streets, hearts torn loose by black claws and flashing fangs. Blood stained the cobblestones they'd counted in childish superstition, and the specks of gore on the sulfur-yellow lights stained the world an ugly shade of red.

Breathless, heart tearing at his throat like one of those beasts, he tore down the streets, ducking the shadows and dodging the demons until he reached home. It would be fine there, his mother would be safe, his father was so big and brave and strong and Alrac could trust him and the door was so close just beyond his grip clawing at air against the enveloping night - !

The parlor was ruins. Furniture lay broken and useless, lights smashed to pieces, the world stained with night. The darkness of his eyes _(oh, how intense, how handsome, all the girls will be clamoring for you, Alrac)_ met the blind leer of his mother, the chilly cataract of death hiding her sight forever _(pretty eyes, so full of love and kindness oh god would he ever know kindness again.)_

Everyone was dead.

_Dead_.

Everyone dead.

Oh god, so much _blood_.

So much _darkness_.

Mommy's dead.

Dead.

Alrac fell to his knees, too frozen for tears, too petrified to scream, left to do nothing but stare into those ever-blinded eyes, so perfectly blue and white and empty.

Dead.

Whipsers danced like butterflies around him, always ready to alight in fear at the slightest wayward glance from those lifeless gray eyes. No longer was he Alrac the boy, and all could see it, in his hardened glare, his powerful arms, and the the wickedly sharp Keyblade that glinted at his side. Both he and his weapon were in pure white, and a shock of same-colored hair dangled in front of his eyes, a constant reminder of past fear.

He stalked slowly through the foreign town without a word, and with his eyes constantly flickering from shade to shade. One never knew when those demon yellow eyes would surge forth, when he would have to fight for his life again.

The terrified stares followed him, but was used to it. His blade was always at the ready, and damn those who thought it was a sign of menace. Menace was his life. He was surrounded by the constant lust for his Heart. There was no time for etiqquete when you were a Champion.

A flicker in the dark.

Flash of eyes.

He lunged.

The Keyblade sang through the stagnant air and its jagged teeth found solid target, tearing and crushing, slaying the dark again. Blood splash and stained the ground, and Alrac pursed his thin lips. No pity stirred within his stare as he looked down at the dead, bisected cat. It reeked of darkness.

"No!"

A crying child. One of thousands he'd seen. Tears of grief, of rage, of endless sorrow. There was no shortage of casualties in the line of war, and always they left one behind.

"You killed him! You killed him!"

His muscles tesned as the child approached, shrieked, started flailing with its tiny fists. Alrac snarled and batted it away with the blunt end of his Keyblade. Whether the blood that poured from the little girl's mouth was hers or her pets, he neither knew nor cared. All blood stank the same, of death and shadow.

"Wretch," he hissed.

She screamed, fled. He turned to stare after his shoulder, and saw the strained and striken faces of the townspeople. He said nothing, only sat beneath the tree under which the cat had been hidden and proceeded to clean the beast from his prized weapon.

It was sparkling by the time the old man arrived. Alrac could smell his darkness a mile off, but made no sign to move. No sign he noticed. Playing at the fool was something he'd become good at; it made it easier to take them quickly. He let his gaze slide over as the man cough, hacked, throat thick with his own sin.

"Old man," Alrac said. It was flat. Listless. Empty. The old man shuddered.

"Y'killed that girl's cat. T'weren't good 'o ya t'do that."

"There is darkness everywhere," Alrac replied plainly. "One must always be prepared."

"'N what if it'd been that girl there?"

"She'd be dead." A fact, delivered with utter sincerity.

"Y'best slow your blade."

"I'd rather lose a fool than let the Darkness take me, and all in the worlds. I am a Champion. My duty is to protect the Light."

"Won't be nuthin' to pr'tect if'n y'kill everyone."

Alrac turned slowly, and reached up to brush aside his white lock of hair so both eyes could meet the old man's. The old man flinched.

"I suggest you leave. The darkness is thick around you, and Cleanser thirsts for more."

The old man vanished in a flash, and Alrac let himself rest against the tree. His eyes fell shut but his mind kept humming, senses always sharp. He would not let anything catch him off-guard. So there was no surprise when he awoke to find the villagers stanging around him, with their torches and pitchforks, iron bars and iron eyes.

"Git out of our town, murderer!" one shrieked from within the crowd.

"We know what ye done!"

"Killed people!"

"Innocents dead!"

"_Murderer_!"

Alrac just sighed at he got to his feet, brushing the dirt from his impeccably white clothes. He turned his head up to stare at the crowd, and hefted up Cleanser.

"You are all tainted. The Darkness consumes you."

"Keep feedin' us yer _lies_! Your _excuses_!"

"No mercy."

The wizened, shadow-thick face of the man in front of him exploded in blood and Cleanser drank it in. The spikes of its teeth tore loose from his flesh to swing to the side, digging into the fat neck of a portly man holding a torch. It fell, fire taking to the dry grass under foot and casting everything in horrible red light. Alrac wasted no time. Cleanser sang in the air once again.

An old woman lost her jaw, shrikeing gurgling cries of anguish hindered by her missing tongue. Men dropped, throats cut and stomaches pierced. The little girl from before lost her arm, then her head. He was right as always; her blood stank the same, looked the same, burned the same on his skin.

The air rang clear with screams, of anguish and rage and terror and hate and all the dark emotions, casting them for what they were. Heartless or no, they would become them. Alrac was just doing his job early.

He was still locked in his dance of death when the shadows came themselves. The people left alive soon burst into gore, Hearts rended free by the glittering claws of darkness. Alrac looked upon those evil gold eyes and shredded their owners with the same ease he'd cleaved the girl's arm from her shoulder.

When the village was finally empty, Alrac looked disdainfully down at his blood dark robes. He let out a low noise of discontent, and turned to leave the dark and dusty streets.

A room, so full of light it was painful to look upon. The walls, the cieling, everything was white. Everything but its inhabitant's miserably dark eyes. Even his hair had turned fully white at last.

"What shall we do with him?" asked a hidden figure, lurking behind the invisible pane of glass that looked in.

"Nothing. He's useless."

"But you saw how powerful he was..."

"Look at him, Galran. He's broken. Take him into the world and his heart would stop."

"Everywhere...darkness..." croaked the man in the room, vocal chords rusty from disuse. Galran flinched at the inhuman sound, and the completely void of his stare.

"Shouldn't we kill him, then?"

"He'll die on his own."

"But..."

"No more. Let us find the next."

"Understood."

Alrac rocked slowly back and forth in the corner of his room, so free of shadows. No way they could sneak up on him here, no, he was safe, forever safe from the horrible darkness that had stalked him so relentlessly. He clutched at his bony knees with spider-fingers, pale and thin from his miserable diet.

"Everywhere...but here..." he croaked, and a hollow grin split his face.

"Don't be so sure about that," chuckled a silky smooth voice.

Alrac turned, right into the golden eyes of hell itself.

The white Heartless grinned its knife grin, and Alrac screamed.

His blood reeked of darkness.


End file.
